all i need is a little emotion
by billiespiper
Summary: they all have opinions, like it or not. every character x every character. multi chapter, more info inside.


**title: **all i need is a little emotion

**description: **they all have opinions, like it or not. every chapter is a different character, with everyone's opinion on them. (it kind of starts out general, then goes into an anecdote). every character x every character.

**disclaimer: **i don't own victorious, or the title which is a sentence from the song ice by lights. go listen. kbai.

xx

{*Tori Vega*}

She's fire&ice, and endless contrast of hate(like)hate(like)hate(like) Tori wants to be _accepted_, wants to add another trophy to her shelve. Why is she making this so hard? Is it the boyfriend that she has but Tori doesn't? {She knows Tori wants him, catches the little sighs and fluttering eyelashes.} Even with coffee blurring her vision and soaked hair clinging to her face, she wants to smile because it's INGENIOUS. (Do it through improv, makes you seem clever, incorporating acting into evil) Tori wants to _be_ her, is that so bad? She has everything it seems, beautyboy&brains. Of course she isn't TORI VEGA either, so that levels out the playing field.

She remembers one day in May, hot and sticky, hair sticking to the back of her neck. Everything **sucked** because she failed a test and Andre got mad at her, Beck ever/so/subtly rejected her, and she made Cat Valentine cry. Again. She curled up against a locker, crying until her eyes were raw and she had no more tears left in her body. Tori feels a hand on her knee. Long, hard nails coated in black gently scrape her skin, making Tori shiver.

"You okay?" It's the wicked witch in all her glory, a cup of coffee ({[just like the kind that once drenched your head]}) secured in her can't believe that she's coming to ask if she's okay.

"Yeah," She attempts to sound strong and composed [like h e r?(shut up)] but her voice cracks and salt water splashes her face, a tear sliding down the slope of her nose and splintering into a million pieces on the floor. And then her arms are around Tori, black cloth covering her eyes,and she buries her face in lace&hair extensions. After a few moments, she pats her back. _Thanks_. She wants to say it, but the girl is gone, combat boots clacking heavily on the marble floor. Tori knows that her relationship with her will never be the same.

#Andre Harris#

She's brutal, always bringing you down (but you know she doesn't mean it). You think that she's beautiful, mysterious and reserved. When she sits herself down next to you, taking your food without asking, you can't help but grin at her nonchalance. You note that she smells like green apple, the scent lingering around her paper white skin. Her hair frames her face, dark curls lightly grazing her jawbone. During lunch, the only time you can _safely_ examine her (you know, without getting punched by her or getting shouted at by Beck), you come to a conclusion that she looks like Snow White. Snow White and Aladdin, Disney fairytales, how picture-perfect.

You've always been jealous of Beck, you have to admit. He has the girl you lust after, the girl of your dreams is infatuated with him, and even Little Red can't keep her deep brown eyes off every inch of his skin. You're always just Andre Harris, musical prodigy, nothing more, nothing less.

You remember the first time she acknowledges you without a cruel remark or a biting insult. You're eating alone, scribbling music notes down on a looseleaf sheet in between bites of Macaroni&Cheese when she throws her bag down on the table.

"I._Hate_.Him." She spits, seething. Her hands are clenched into fists, nails digging into the table. You sigh, leaning back.

"What'd Beck do now?" You ask (Although you know you should be defending your best friend, not his girlfriend).

"Flirting, Vega, stupid little... argh!" Her scream makes you jump and you don't know if you should run or try to comfort her.

"Uh, I gotta go... class starts in three minutes... see you later-" you don't finish your sentence, because she's gripped you by the collar and you're shoved back down on the bench beside her.

"Listen up, Harris. I need someone to talk to, and you're prime candidate." "What about-"

"Who? Beck? Don't think so. This is, after all, about him. Tori? I'd rather dip my hand in a pot of boiling, green acid, thanks. Cat? Do you really think she would listen at all? And don't get me started on Robbie and Trina, so can it Andre and let me vent." Her eyes are blazing, but you see the small tears pricking the corners. Reluctantly, you bite your lip and nod.

"Shoot."

As her story spills out, words tripping over words, curses lighting up her sentences, the small tears leak out, dripping down her cheeks. (But they're swiped away angrily before you can get the chance to comment on them) Her hands tremble, and man you just want to kill Beck.

Wait- isn't he supposed to be your closest friend? You brush the thought from your mind, eyebrows furrowed. When she finishes, she sighs with extravaganza, head bowed and hair brushing her collar bone.

You reach forward, about to lay a hand on her shoulder when a figure blocks the sun.

"Ja-ade." It's him. She doesn't meet his eyes, instead keeping them trained on the table. "C'mon, babe. I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry."

Her lips are pursed tightly, and Beck gets a concerned look on his face.

"Please? She doesn't mean anything to me." His soothing words are blocked out as you stare pointedly at the Grub Truck, willing yourself not to cry. And you don't, even as she's lead away from the table with a rare smile (something you wish you could make grace her face) painted on her lips. Even, when you spot them making out heatedly on the lockers, her shoulders drawn up high as she runs her hands through his hair (**YOU'RE**_**RIGHT**_**THERE**). You want her to talk to you like she did at lunch, even though you know she was just venting [doesn't really mean it. not really her friend].

And even though you're trying to deny it, you want her.

little**CAT VALENTINE**

she's your BEST-FRIEND (or so you say), the one you turn to if you want to know the truth about coffee&tea being the same thing (no cat. they aren't.) or if abraham lincoln was _really_ a president. (yes, he was.) you pretend her insults slide smoothly past your ears, but each word makes you crumble a little more. And you want her to be your friend, but you also want her to be your g i r l f r i e n d [shh, don't tell her]. she's so pretty, so flawless.

but you're just cat.

tainted, unlovable, stupid.

you want to be her everything, you want to be the one she calls when her life comes spiraling ;d;o;w;n; {but that speed-dial is reserved for beckoliver}.

when you guys sing at karaoke-dokie. bodies thriving together, your eyes follow her shaking hips the entire time. she bumps your shoulder and you can swear that your heart stops. god, you want to kiss her. kisskisskiss. you think about her rosebud red lips on yours.

[stop it cat. good girls don't think like that.]

you remember when you told her. you're both sitting on your bed, magazines strewn across the room. a stereo blares aerosmith&pink floyd [her choice.] next on the playlist is katy perry&ke$ha {your choice, of course.}

your nails are painted yellow, brightbright yellow, and hers are black. as always. you steal a glance at her, and she's texting, thumbs flying across her keyboard. you snatch it from her hands, giggling gleefully. she's upset.

"hey! give it back!" she demands, hands on hips. instead, you scroll through her messages, your smile dropping more with each one.

_love you, babe._

_i hate you. _

_3 you're so cute when you hate me._

_the freak is singing along to the music -.- fml._

_don't call cat a freak._

_she is. she doesn't even take her medications, i've been trying to sneak them in her food for the last halfhour. _

_oh._

_yeah. therefore, freak._

_that's not very nice._

_yeah, well._

you look up with tears in your eyes, and she has a shamed look on her face.

"i'm sorry, cat." wow. she said she's sorry. you swallow your pride (it's okay, it's like swallowing the gerbil-size food you eat. {she means there isn't much pride to swallow})

"it's kay!" you chirp, brightly, happily.

{{how does she do this to you?}}

an hour later, she's collapsed on the couch, her arm dragging on the floor, lips curled up into a taunting smirk, even in her sleep. you watch her chest rise and fall, the curve of her body. you're mesmerized, she's perfect. beck doesn't deserve her, only you do [that's selfish, cat. don't be selfish]. and you want to cradle her in your arms and coo soft lullabyes in her ear. you don't notice her eyes flicker open.

"cat, why are you staring at me?" she asks, her voice snapping you out of your reverie.

"i-uh... nevermind."

"tell me,"

"no."

"caterina valentine, tell me why you were staring at me."

"i like you!" no response. just furrowed eyebrows and an agape mouth.

"no, i love you!" still no sound. she just balls her hands up and frowns at you [disapproving. you failed again, valentine].

"you're so pretty, and i just... i love you!" where is this coming from? you want to take it back, want to shove the words down your mouth.

"shut up." that sentence, her stock phrase, strikes you hard.

"but, i-"

"shut up, cat. come here." you walk over tentatively, playing with the ends of your bright red hair.

"yeah?" you pause for a second, tilting your head to the side.

"kiss me." the request is strange. but you are all for strange. you take her shoulders and press your soft lips onto hers, just for a moment, before pulling away. you're stuttering, knocked speechless.

"i-i..." she picks up her bag, winking before walking away.

"see you later, valentine." she shouts over her shoulder [as if nothing happened? {nothing DID happen, cat. you're still the same as you always were... only a little bit more prone to rejection.}]

you wander over to the mirror, holding a few fingers up to wipe away the smears of black lipstick that {taint, maim, destroy} your lips.

"(BECKLEY OLIVER)"

She's the ying to your yang, the dark side to your light. It sounds strange, but in a way she evens you out. Like you would be _too_ good without her. Her iron-strong grip is always on your arm, nail polish chipping onto your skin. It's like she literally wants to never let you go, like if she loosens her hold for a second, you'll go running to +{Princess Victoria Vega}+ and leave her in the dust, black tears staining her face.

You think it's silly how crazy-possessive-ridiculous she is, but that's just so HER, and you can't comprehend the thought of her being any other way.

You like the way her eyes _glare_ into yours [with those hints of love that only you catch], she's insane, _can't be tamed_, and you of all people should know that.

She dresses in longsleeved black tshirts so that nobody can see the s/c/a/r/s that decorate her arms.

You remember when you first find out about her life, the abuse and the scandals. The simplest of remarks that can wind her up in the hospital. It was a Friday, and you were feeding your fish, tilting the food and grinning when the swam up to the top, tails swishing. You tap the glass, and the fish dart away, (scared, so scared. nobody's ever been scared of BECKOLIVER before. you like it) burrowing into their castles.

A sharp round of knocks sounds at the door, and you almost miss it. running your fingers through your hair, you begrudgingly get up and open the door. You think it's going to be Tori, or Andre, cause Jade doesn't _knock_, she just breaks things.

But it _is_ her, shivering in a paper thin nightgown, fingers knotted into balls and a multicolored bruise blossoming on her jaw.

"Are you okay?" You ask, stepping back so that she can come in. She does, and you notice that she's crying, black eyeliner-rings starting to circle her eyes. Her nose is scrunched up tight and _damn_ you want to hug her [but you know she'll just **punch** you].

"What happened to your face?" You reach forwards to touch her injury, but she pulls away, reminding you instantly of the fish.

"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me"

"Sorry, just... you look awful,"

"Thanks a lot," She's really furious, taking it out on you (as always).

"I just wanna help you,"

"Yeah, everybody wants to fucking help."

"Someone's bitter," You try to make it light, and flash your smile that makes **every** girl go weak-kneed. Then, she breaks down. She starts sobbing, cheeks wet within instants. Without another hesitation, you wrap your arms around her, wondering _what_ could make her act this way. Eyeliner spreads onto your flannel, but you find yourself not minding. After she's all cried-out, her head resting on your chest, an occasional sniffle disturbing the silence.

You blink, and as she pulls her arm up to tie her hair into a ponytail, you catch a flash of red streaking her wrist, right along the blue veins that pulse through her pale skin.

"Babe," She doesn't respond, doesn't meet your eyes. "Babe, what was that?"

She licks her lips, uncertainty flickering across her features. You reach for her wrists, but she snatches them back, a sudden fiery anger smoldering in her eyes [diminishing the _ice _that always sits in her irises]. But, in reality, you're stronger, and she's pinned down beneath you, your breath grazing against her neck. You're not sure if you even _want_ to see what's under the cloth, but this is your girlfriend, and you have to **make sure**. Hope it's not true, hope it's not true.

You run your fingers down the seams of her shirt, and you feel her shiver underneath your touch. You take the ends of her sleeves between your fingers, and pull it up. A sharp intake of breath makes her cringe, and you feel bad, because you just want to make her STOP.

"Babe..." She's out from underneath him, a terrified look in her eyes. _You _caused that. "Why? Why don't you just talk to me?"

"You don't fucking understand," Her hands tremble, and she's breathing hard.

"Make me understand,"

"He... he... when he brings home a girl, he hits me to show-off,"

"What are you talking about?"

"My father, you dumbshit!" You want to chide her, but her voice is rocky and off-pitched.

"Your father... hits you?"

"Thank you, Sherlock Holmes," She rolls her eyes, some of her attitude trickling back into her.

"You have to tell someone,"

"No. Fucking. Way." Why does she curse so much? Do they e x a g e r a t e her sentences?

"If he's...abusing you, then you need to tell someone."

"You don't get it, _Beck_," Your name sounds like poison dripping from her mouth. "I can't tell anyone, because he would find out, and..." She blinks, and looks shocked for a moment. She grabs the ends of her nightgown, bunching them up into balls. "Why am I telling you this?" Her voice is suddenly hushed, and you smile up at her.

"Because I love you, and you know that I can help," She smiles back, and bows her head. And her smile ends the discussion, &you wants to bring it up again, but after two years of dating the vicious and unstable girl, you know better than that.

Two weeks later, there's another scar traveling down her arm, and a split lip, but you pretends not to n{o}t{i}c{e}.

**freaky****ROBBIE****SHAPIRO**

You don't really understand her. Don't understand the stories that lie (just w a i t i n g) beneath her tough exterior. She's like plexiglass [[it's not real glass, it doesn't b/r/e/a/k]], but there are hairline cracks splintering down her frame.

You see the way Andre&Cat *YOUR Cat* stare at her, and can't help but wonder what's so intriguing about her life. She's just HER, she of multicolored hair and eyebrow piercings.

She hurts your [best]friend, and you want to murder her for it. [3just because he's **wooden** doesn't mean he has no feelings3]

You remember once in February, when a couple of seniors slushied you, and you were wiping bits of ice from your eyelashes, a puppet covered in purple drink resting on your hand. You mutter words to yourself, keeping your eyes on the ground trying not to c r y. You find yourself in the auditorium, where there's a melodious tune flowing from the piano. She's sitting on the bench, long fingers floating gently over the keys, eyes closed in bliss and a small smile decorating her face.

"Shapiro!" Her voice is iced over, and the smile disappears, back into the shadows. "What are you doing here?"

You motion to Rex, and frown.

"Seniors," She tilts her head to the side, chewing at the corner of her mouth. When you look up again, she's inches away from you, dabbing at Rex's face gingerly with the corner of her teeshirt.

"Yeah. Seniors." Her eyes flicker over to the doorway (she doesn't want anyone to see that she's with the p u p p e t boy, he's such a freakfreakfreak), and you see that her eyelashes are so long they reach the tips of her cheek. For once, you can't seem to make an insult spill out of Rex's mouth. You just stand there in silence, watching as she wipes a lock of her hair out of her face.

"Thanks. For, um, cleaning him up," You don't know exactly how to say it. "It was... different. Not very... you." She sighs shifting so that her messenger bag isn't too heavy on either shoulder.

"No problem." You can hear her shoes clicking on the hard floor, and you lift your head up to the ceiling, trying hard to count the spots of discoloration, trying hard to remember everything about today.

And when Cat bounces around you at lunch, the time when you usually only think of red velvet cupcakes and little brothers, the only thing on your mind is a girl who will never be the same in your mind.

**smh, i fail. so yeah, this is going to be for every character. guess who? well, i think everyone knows but i'm going to try not to mention each character's name in the stories. cause, yanno, i'm artsy like that. each section has a different stylistic type of writing (cat's is all lower case, tori's is in third person, etc). this is like all pairings, so yeah, werd. i'm not doing trina for this character, i actually probably won't do her for a lot of characters cause i don't think she really matters to them very much. r&r, thankzyou.**


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